Dream of Stardust and Butterflies
by Under a Bad Sun
Summary: She blinks rapidly as she shakes off the two thousand years worth of dreams and imaginations before seeing her younger self.  AmyRory


**Dream of Stardust and Butterflies**

**(A World of Perfect Clarity)**

**(Summary: **_She blinks rapidly as she shakes off the two thousand years worth of dreams and imaginations before seeing her younger self._

**Pairings: **_Rory/Amy, hinted Amy/Eleven._**)**

"You don't have to look so antsy, he'll be here soon." Amy blinks twice and looks up at Rory. The forest is a blur of vibrant green behind him and, if she concentrates, she thinks she'd be able to hear birds singing a jaunty tune in the distance. There's a picnic basket by her side, empty from where they had both raided it earlier, and the blanket underneath them is a soft and comfortable blue, despite their humored search for a clichéd checkered red. Rory's looking at her with a mixture of affection and hurt, a combination that would seem rare to anyone but her who, unfortunately, had seen him pull that same expression throughout most of their childhood. Regret hits her, swift and quick, and for some reason it seemed vitally important to let him know that _he _was the stuff of her dreams too. Not just the Doctor and the TARDIS, but him right beside her as they trekked off into unknown lands. Before she could, though, he began speaking again. "Look, I know you love traveling with him. So do I, honestly. But… here is good too, isn't it?" His voice was hesitant in that way he had, where he thought he knew the answer but he wanted to ask just in case he was wrong. She grasped his hand from where it laid outstretched on the cover and squeezed it tightly. "Yeah, Rory. Here's good too." They exchanged smiles; Amy's own stretching so wide she was sure her cheeks would hurt for days. Their hands stayed between them, entwined and interlocked, until, suddenly, the sun seemed too bright and the grass too green. With a blink, the word around her began to blur.

"Intergalactic Space Jam 5!" The Doctor shouts as he whirls around the console. His tweed jacket flares out behind him briefly and his bow tie is horribly askew. His hands move in a flurry, twisting and turning and pulling and pressing everything in sight to lead them towards their next destination. Sometimes Amy thinks that the only reason they got where they were going was the TARDIS, because she was sure his way of piloting changed every day. From where she was sitting, Amy could just barely see the scanner that had numbers blazing across its screen in a desperate attempt to shift positions. "What?" The question came out stuttered through her laughing mouth and the image of him, hair a mess and smile slightly manic, had to be one of the best things she had ever seen. "Intergalactic Space Jam 5! An entire planet dedicated to the best of the best in entertainment! Speakers the size of your sun mounted in just the right position for you to hear every slight key shift in the music, screens wide enough for you to notice the smallest of details on a television program, a stage large enough that there's no need to crowd in front of a dozen plays simultaneously running! It's brilliant!" Amy raises an eyebrow as she thinks of all this could entail. "Wouldn't that be rather noisy? I'm all for a party, but a million different screaming voices on top of a million different screaming programs? Seems like a headache waiting to happen." She already knows that she wants to go and that he'd take her anyway, but a small part of her can't help but to raise complaints.

"That's the thing, Amy! They have these little ear pods, made from the organic metal on Gorfalicus and running on radio waves being bounced around on several carefully positioned satellites. All we have to do is grab the both of us a pair, and pick anything we want. Everything else will be blocked out, as simple as you please." He gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke, and she found his grin so contagious she couldn't fight the upturning of her own lips. "Well, alright then. What are you waiting for? Let's go!" He laughed, loud and delighted, before the sound of the TARDIS materializing reached her ears. They both rushed towards the doors, eager to see the world that would be waiting for them. The Doctor opened them in a flourish and all Amy saw waiting for her was a mash of unfocused colors and the mute sound of pure, unadulterated silence.

Aunt Sharon is out again. Where Amy can't remember, though she thinks she might remember something about books. A book club? A library? Either way, it's only Rory and her inside her house and they're running out of games to play. Amy, out of nowhere, gets the most wonderful, possibly stupid idea. She looks at Rory, who is one year older at the age of eleven and is the only friend she has and the only person she knows who hasn't even once thought her crazy. He knows the stories, though she has never shown him her drawings and crafts. She remembers the box under her bed that is filled with two old, ripe smelling dress shirts, a single pair of black slacks, and one torn-at-the-end tie. Her Aunt had found them in a bedroom on the second floor, and while she couldn't seem to be able to remember where they came from she had been willing, if only slightly reluctant, to give them to her. She grabs Rory's wrist to stop him from running off, since he was still under the impression that they were playing the now boring game of tag, and gave him an appraising look. "Hey, Rory. Have you ever had something so precious you didn't really want to share it with the world?" He looks at her with something tender in his expression, something neither of them would understand for years, and answers with a quiet _yeah_. She looks at him carefully and then, coming to a decision, pulls him up to her room where he would be introduced to her Doctor for this first time. And, if she used her words cleverly, he might even be up for a game. She was halfway up the stairs when his wrist was no longer in her grip. She looked behind herself curiously, only to find Rory gone and the rest of the room fading away.

She realizes that something isn't right the second she opens her eyes. The roof above her is split in half, as though someone had drawn a life straight in the middle and decorated both halves accordingly. One side of the room was the color of her bedroom roof, the pure white dotted across the sloping top. The second half was the color of the TARDIS roof, an organic looking yellow that seemed to flash in and out of view. She was sure that, if she looked down, the bed covers would be half purple, her favorite color as a child and, consequently, the color of her unchanged bed sheets, and half emerald green, the color she had found waiting for her when she had first stepped inside her room on board. She recognized the familiar warmth and weight of an arm around her waist and was unsurprised, if slightly pleased, to see Rory sleeping beside her. His entire body was incased in the purple coverings and was placed completely in her childhood room. His arm, though, had snuck out of the covers to hold her from where she laid entirely inside the TARDIS half. His face was peaceful, as peaceful as she thinks she has ever seen it. The corners of his lips are upturned, even in sleep, and his brow that is usually creased in worry is in a smooth line. It makes her want to smile and, with barely even a thought, she moves them both inch by inch until they're both laying in the direct middle with her almost directly on top of him. She watches him as his eyes drift slowly open in grogginess and gets the pleasure of seeing a full smile begin to take form on his face as he registers her presence. He's just about to say something, maybe _I love you _or, if he's anything like her when she first woke up, _where the hell are we_. She blinks, sluggishly and tiredly, before she finds out only to discover her surroundings in a mess of black when she opens her eyes again.

Her head is pounding. It's an echoing sound inside her skull and her vision is impaired by a blinding light. She can feel her scarf brushing against her legs from where it dangles against her neck and her entire body seems to come awake with one loud, painful creak. Her head seems a thousand pounds heavier than it is and she feels ancient as she struggles to hold it up. Her nine year old self is there to greet her when she finally does, and Amy barely has time to be surprised before she finds herself automatically speaking.


End file.
